Artic Confinement
by Ashlynn LionHart
Summary: After discovering the horcruxe mistakenly buried within him, Harry answer Voldemort's ultimatum at the Battle of Hogwart. Hopping that his sacrifice would spare his loved ones' lives, he goes to his death.  No pairing


**Title**: Artic Confinement

**Author's pen name**: Ashlynn LionHart

**Universe(s)**: Harry Potter

**Disclaimer: **I dot not own anything from the Harry Potter books, no money is being made with this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**P****airings**: None

**Summary**: After discovering the horcruxe mistakenly buried within him, Harry answer Voldemort's ultimatum at the Battle of Hogwart. Hopping that his sacrifice would spare his loved ones' lives, he goes to his death willingly –leaving them all to deal with the consequences.

**AN:**** Well…this is awkward. I specified that I wouldn't post any other story while I was already working on another one and **_**To Hell and Back**_** certainly **_**is**_** a handful right now. The words are stuck and refuse to come on the paper smoothly. However, this is a oneshot, and a completed one at that, so it doesn't count…right? Take it as a little gift to thaw the frustration of waiting after my slow person. It's more from Voldemort's point of view than Harry and end differently from the book, I swear!**

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**Artic Confinement**

…

The very air was thick with tension in the moonlit clearing.

No one dared to speak as the two wizards silently observed each other; their eyes sharp and not leaving their opponent's face for even a second. They seemed totally oblivious to their surroundings –as if they were the sole breathing creatures alive for miles. The presence of numerous black clad individuals waiting with trepidation for their slightest move was momentarily forgotten in this suspended state preceding the conclusion of their fate.

Both had their wand held loosely at their side.

They were standing as still as statues.

Motionless, yet already engaged in a battle of will; neither intent on yielding to their foe even if one of them had come, knowingly, to await his death dealt by the other's merciless' hand.

A ravenous glee slowly rose behind cold, blood red eyes as they stared relentlessly into the shadowed, but defiant emerald pair glaring right back at him.

The Dark Lord's hissing laughter broke through the chilling atmosphere; a fitting complement to the gloomy setting. To the onlookers, the black haired boy didn't appear disturbed by the display, but he nonetheless felt as if a torturous vine had tried to twine its icy length around his wildly beating heart. And clenched. Painfully so.

A wave of movement stirred through the rows of Death Eaters; they shifted uneasily, restless and wondering if they should join their voice to the disquieting sound or keep quiet and enjoy the show. The choice was made for them when the laugh abruptly died, replaced by their master's dangerously smooth voice. He was a regal sight in the wake of his soon to be victory.

"_Harry Potter,"_ he drawled, the name falling from his lips barely in the human speech. His eyes were half-closed, their bleeding color mere slits on his marble white face. "How nice of you to grace us with your presence."

Voldemort rose what had once been Dumbledore's wand with a flourish and aimed the glowing tip at the famous lightning bolt scar nested between the boy's brows. Hidden behind messy locks of hair, the old curse mark seemed raw; the angry red line of its broken shape etched painfully into the tender skin.

"I wonder what your little friends would say if they could see you now, standing alone, defenseless in front of your most hated enemy, waiting on my whim to end your pathetic existence while begging me to spare their worthless lives." A cruel smile twisted his mouth. "Just like your mudblood mother."

Darkly entertained chuckles escaped the black mass circling the two wizards. The mist grazing the forest' soil licked their robes lazily, drifting away from the trees and effectively dampening any exclamation susceptible to carry past the edges of the clearing.

After lifting his own wand without thinking, the boy remained as silent as when he had abandoned the cover of the woods. Only a sudden flare of anger burning through his fierce stare relayed anything about his roused ire at the slander. Nothing else. He would not answer to Voldemort's taunts. He knew perfectly well why he was here tonight and would not be deterred. He was here to die and rid the world of one more part of the Dark Lord's taint. He was here to make a necessary step in ending this dreadful war.

His enemy casually dismissed the weapon directed at his heart and continued on; they were both aware that the gesture lacked true intent. The hawthorn stick stayed lifeless in Harry's almost limp grip.

"It is a shame, really, that I don't have time to draw this out any longer. I assure you I would have taken great pleasure listening to your tortured screams as I extract them from your bleeding throat. Alas, child, you have the unappealing habit to disappear on me at the most inopportune of moment. I am afraid we will have to keep our encounter…brief."

He tilted his head a little and waited to see if some trace of fear would blossom from the twin green flames locked to his curious gaze. He thought he had caught a sliver of that delightful terror he was used to find on his victims, but it was gone and something _foreign_ filtered through. Unnerved and annoyed to be denied what he sought, the Dark Lord felt his magic surge forward.

The world exploded in bright green light, blinding the shocked crowd of Death Eaters and wrenching a shout of pure agony from their Lord.

The sound of two bodies hitting the ground simultaneously brought the masked followers back to their senses.

"**MASTER!**" A female voice screeched.

Splitting the crowd, she threw herself madly beside one of the crumpled shape; straining to hear any sign of life from her Lord, but not daring to risk his wrath to touch him.

Relief flooded the majority of the dark wizards' ranks when a ripple of power echoed through their mark.

Cautiously, the man picked himself from the now burnt patch of grass he had landed on, and then took a glance at his latest kill. The bane of his existence, the thorn in his side, was dead.

No more.

No more would the boy attempt to foil his plans.

The darkest wizard of the century felt his restraint on his temporary indifferent gait snap and a vicious, victorious smirk morphed his features in a terrifying sight. Nothing could stop him anymore. The prophecy had shattered into million of tiny little pieces. The world was his to rule, his to plunder, his to conquer. There would be no boundaries to his reign: his power over the wizarding world would be _absolute._

When he started to laugh, this time, his servants eagerly rejoiced with him. They shouted insults at the dead form of the young Savior of the Light and yelled their support for the new era that would unfold.

For those helpless sheep huddled in every nook and cranny of the ancient castle –as well as those beyond –would, shortly, bend under the might of their Lord.

The contagious eruption of unbridled bloodlust was, however, called to a halt as Voldemort made a vague sign toward an aristocratic blond woman. His calculating eyes boring into hers as he talked.

"Unfortunately, we should not take anything for granted with Mister Potter… Go and confirm yourself that the nuisance is definitely out of the way."

She bowed, respectful, before hurrying to complete her assigned task. The Dark Lord' stare and countless others glued to her back as she warily kneeled next to the small sprawled teen on the ground her stance mirroring, ironically, that of her sister a few moment ago.

The woman stayed there for about a minute, making a point to search for a pulse or any movement of the chest which would betray breathing.

"He is truly dead, my Lord." She announced while raising to her feet and walking to her husband.

The Death Eaters howled anew, but loud, broken sobs could still be heard above all the noise as the chained half-giant shook with grief at the loss of the poor child.

The blond lady clenched a delicate fist tightly in the folds of her sleeve and closed her eyes briefly. Her lapse went ignored in the frenzy of her peers. She watched with rapt attention the Dark Lord take three assured steps closer to the boy's body, a wicked gleam in his blood red orbs.

He had, initially, toyed with the idea to reveal the corpse of their precious Boy-Who-Lived to the rebels. Cradled tragically within the arms of his giant companion, his sized would have appeared pitifully small compared to the brute's huge husk. But…he could imagine a different picture. A much more _satisfying _one.

His wand danced a complicated pattern, eliciting rumbling tremors from the earth as, at the very center of the area, a wide slab of rock emerged from its confines.

Hushed whispers were exchanged between the clueless Death Eaters, but they didn't probe –for evident reasons. One does not question a Dark Lord.

Voldemort brought his wand back to the dead Gryffindor. The diminutive body floated a few meters above ground before he directed it with nonchalant accuracy and let it drop carelessly on the newly created block of stone. He hissed a harsh command in parseltongue and dust burst around the rock as crude runes of power carved themselves on the smooth surface.

The wizards watching fidgeted; they could feel the magic building in their Lord's creation. It was a captivating and frightening process, but the purpose was still bewildering.

"Tonight, my dear Death Eaters, was the last struggle of the Light!" His voice travelled over the crowd unhindered. "The corpse of their fallen Savior shall remain displayed here as a symbol of our victory and a lasting reminder of their overwhelming defeat! Let none forget the strength of the Dark!"

Sparks of magic slithered over the disgustingly muggle clothes belonging to the teen and they were transfigured into a clean set of white robes.

"_Morsmordre_," he intoned with perverse pleasure, defiling the immaculate fabric with his infamous brand. Inky black, venomous green and, surprisingly, a smear of deep crimson swirled on the cloth to draw the familiar snake and skull. The only notorious difference with the tattoo was the mangled phoenix dangling in the serpent's jaw.

Voldemort admired his handiwork then began to chant a longue string of archaic words in Latin. At the same time, he silently warned his devoted servants and soldiers to move away from the clearing.

The lounging mist in the forest moved swiftly to gather in a heavy cloud that wrapped itself snuggly around the lithe form on the stone. The air grew colder and frost covered the soil, freezing the nearby plants.

Inside the dense fog, however, a chocked gasp perturbed the ominous silence.

But it went unnoticed by the deserting spectators.

Tendrils of magic shot from the runes which became alight with a pale blue glow; the faint luminosity suddenly brightened, basking the smoke colored haze and freezing it instantly. When the light dimmed to a slight shimmer, all that was left in the clearing was an everlasting casket of glittering ice.

Partially concealed by the shadows of the trees, intense red eyes committed the scene to memory. The wizard, then, turned away in a show of flying robes leaving only a silkily forbidding whisper behind him.

"Here lies the crushed heart the lions."

And his parting words were written by an invisible hand on the glistening adamant blanket.

…

**AN: So…that's it. What do you think? Oh, and for those who might wonder about the blond (Narcissa) and what she said: keep in mind that she acted similarly as she did in the original story. Meaning she knew that Harry really wasn't dead when she checked. She lied to her husband's master (risky thing that). But it's a bit of a moot point since the boy was frozen stiff by the unknown spells at the end. Do you think it might be interesting to make this into a prequel for a story eventually? Hmm…**

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